


Drabbles

by masonverger_rising



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Animal Death, Blood, Blood and Gore, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Sex Tape, Sibling Incest, Tumblr Prompt, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:14:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2223612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masonverger_rising/pseuds/masonverger_rising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles that aren't part of any longer series, all prompted to me through masonverger-rising.tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doctor - Patient Confidentiality

Mason is practically vibrating in his seat as the download completes and when he fumbles the touch pad to open the folder he almost knocks the computer out of his lap. He bites his lip and glances over the screen at the garden where his parents are hosting one of their grand something-or-other parties. He can see Margot looking stoic in her blue sundress as she is swarmed by a gaggle of middle-aged socialites. He smiles to himself and looks back down at his prize.

It’s cost him an astonishing amount of cash to get the contents of Dr Hannibal Lecter’s personal computer, he’s impressed, actually, at the challenge that the good doctor has proven to be. The files are all sorted neatly, though their titles are in some kind of short-hand that makes them indecipherable to him. He pushes his glasses up his nose as he scrolls through the list; he’ll have a more thorough look later but he’s keen to see if there’s anything that will leap out at him as interesting.

Most of the files are text documents — patient transcripts, Mason assumes, though there are a few audio recordings, all with the same nondescript alphabet scramble titles. A lone .avi file catches his eye and he pauses. On the one hand it could be nothing, just some old biddy waxing lyrical about being touched by her uncle as a child, on the other hand … he glances around to be certain that there’s no-one sneaking up behind him to ask about his stock portfolio and then opens the file.

There’s a high quality shot of a wan young girl sitting on a blue lounge, she looks dazed, her eyes glazed, and she’s tracking the person setting up the camera. “Abigail,” Lecter’s distinctive voice purrs out of the speakers and Mason suddenly finds the bench he’s sitting on very uncomfortable, “you said you feel nervous, please tell me why you feel this way.”

Her wide blue eyes flutter closed and her head lolls, Mason wonders what he’s got her on — drugs? Hypnosis? Her white hands curl together in her lap as she manages to find words for the doctor, “You’re too pretty,” she drops her chin and mumbles so low that the speaker barely carries her voice, “I want … you t-to touch me …”

Theres a sound of fabric rustling and then Dr. Lecter himself appears in the shot, In just his crisp white shirt and a well fitted waistcoat. “Abigail, would you show me where you would like me to touch you?” he says, with as little inflection as though it were the most common thing in the world for a therapist to say to — and now the name clicks in Mason’s memory — the daughter of a serial killer. 

On screen the Minnesota Shrike’s daughter lifts up her skirt to show the doctor where she wants him. Mason opens his trousers and slips his hand in to touch himself, his eyes fixed on the weirdly clinical exchange unfolding on his screen.

Far below Mason’s vantage point Margot looks up to see her brother hunched over his laptop and rolls her eyes, she turns around and walks back to the house.


	2. A Common Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by margotverger-rising.tumblr: Mason has a nightmare about being caught in public without clothes on.

The afternoon sun slants across the classroom, Mason is standing up the front. English class. He’s supposed to talk about the book they’ve been assigned. He hasn’t done the reading — he never does the reading, but he’s not usually caught out like this. He smiles, hoping it’ll buy him some time.

Every face in the room is focused on him. All those sharp, bright girl-eyes. Margot is sitting in the front row and he looks to her, hoping that she’ll give him a hint, remind him of what he was supposed to be saying.

Instead, she points at him.

He looks down.

He’s nude, not even wearing his shoes. It takes a moment for him to process this, and a low murmur starts among the class. He looks back up, and now the stillness is broken, they’re twisting in their seats, whispering and pointing and looking at him, at his skinny, hairless chest and his cock, soft between his legs.

For some reason the class is entirely made up of the girls who let him play with them, and he shouldn’t feel self-conscious; it’s nothing that most of them haven’t seen before, but maybe it’s the timing, maybe it’s the fact that they’re all there at once, staring and giggling.

He covers himself, looks to Margot, but she just screws her nose up, turns to whisper something to Stella Carmichael.

Mason is blushing, he knows he is, and there’s nothing he can do but stand there and take it.

He wakes up groggy and disorientated. His right arm is asleep where Margot is lying on it and he feels too hot, embarrassment still coiling in his belly. He yanks his arm out from under her, not concerned whether he wakes her or not, rolls onto his side away from her and closes his eyes.

It’s Saturday. At least he doesn’t have to go to school today.


	3. Murder Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader-insert necro fic featuring Abigail Hobbs

She smiles and tosses her hair back and there; nothing but a gaping wound where her ear should be. Her eyes are as bright as the hunting knife you hadn’t noticed she was holding and her smile doesn’t even waver as she guts you.

You can’t scream, you can feel the unnatural spasm of muscles around the spill of your organs, and it feels like all of the air has been stolen from the room. You watch her slip one slim white hand inside, and she carefully lifts out a rope of intestine to show you. Blood is welling out and spreading through the fabric of your shirt, onto the cold tiles under you, even to the edges of her skirt where she’s not managed to hitch it out of the way.

She doesn’t care.

Her smile only falters when she is close, she grinds down on you and existence fades into darkness and howl of otherworldly air as she brings herself to completion upon your mortal priapism.


	4. Lovely Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Anon: Dream/ Nightmare, Margot kills all of Mason's piggies

Margot’s hand darts out again, another gout of blood across her pale skin, all Mason can hear is the squealing of his special pigs — dead, all of them, and Margot over the corpses like some kind of avenging angel, her mouth wide with the grin that Mason has only seen on his own face before.

She advances on him now, all the piggies dead and he feels a jolt in his belly, watches as she brings the knife closer, reaches down to his —

Mason wakes up hard, squints into the darkness for a moment, his heart racing — Margot wouldn’t really kill the animals, would she? He reaches out but the bed beside him is empty. He shakes his head. No. She wouldn’t. She’d start crying and not be able to go through with it, sweet, bleeding heart little sister.

But what a dream.

He snuggles down under the sheets, too lazy to do anything just yet, and closes his eyes, pictures the dream-Margot, blood stained and pale and vengeful, the feral gleam in her eyes, the bright knife in her hand.

The clock on the nightstand reads 4:04. Mason scratches his belly and then pushes the blankets aside, stands up and stretches. Well, Margot’s only in the next room and there’s no point wasting a good hard-on.


	5. An Uncommon Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Anon: Nightmare: Margot has her child and kills Mason while Margot watches. (Preferably a death by pigs.)

He can hear a baby crying.

Normally he knows that that would only be an annoyance, a mild irritation, but now the sound fills him with cold dread, he feels like he is suffocating.

It is dark, a light flickers on, then another and another.

He is in the barn.

Mason turns his head to look around, looks down at himself — at himself _standing_ on his own two feet, he grins and he can feel his cheeks, feel _lips_ , he raises his hands and feels himself intact, warm skin, and supple fingers.

A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, the baby cries once again and then is silent.

"Oh," he says.

"I’m going to take care of you Mason, dear," Margot says, her breath hot on the back of his neck, "just as you took care of me."

He turns, his mouth opens to speak, to tell her that he only ever did what was best for her, that he _loves_ her, that they are _family_.

She shoves him hard in the small of the back and he’s falling through the hatch in the top of the pig maze, down into the darkness, and overhead, as the pigs tear into his flesh he can see Margot.

Margot watching him with her calm and even expression, a swaddled infant resting in the crook of her arm.

Mason can’t breathe, he can hear the monitor beeping shrilly, can hear the night nurse scurrying to adjust the machines, to check that he isn’t dying.

The ventilator is too slow to keep up with his racing heart, hypoxia makes black dots dance across his vision, makes his dim bedroom swim in front of him.

He can’t move, can’t stand, can’t even _breathe_ on his own.

But Margot doesn’t have a baby.

All Margot has is a scar.

All Margot has is Mason.


	6. Signore Perdonami

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by tenebrisminflesh.tumblr: An accident unleashes Mason's prize hogs onto the grounds of Muskrat Farm.

The first knock on Mason’s bedroom door is so tentative that he almost thinks he’s imagined it. His watch says that it’s 4:13am. Mason closes his laptop and slips his glasses off to rub his eyes.

A second later there is another knock, more confident. He puts his glasses back on and turns to watch the door, “What is it?”

“ _Signore perdonami_ ,” it’s Tommaso, sounding oddly hesitant. _That_ can’t mean anything good, “ _Signore, there is a … problem, con i suini — the — the pigs, Signore, some, some figlio di puttana lasciato il cancello aperto!_ ”

"Jesus," Mason goes and opens the door, "I can’t understand you, slow down — what happened with the pigs?"

Tommaso is pale and sweaty, his eyes darting, “They have … some person has let them … the gate, Signore, somehow the gate was … _sbloccato_ , was _open_.”

Mason blinks slowly, scratches his cheek, “I take it Carlo is working on that, then?”

Tommaso nods.

"And the rest of the staff?"

"We have told them, Signore, to be in the house, non all’esterno … però …"

“ _Però?_ ” Mason steps out into the hall, “però _what_ exactly, Tommaso?”

"The, the … le guardie di sicurezza — we heard screaming," Tommaso swallows thickly, his adams apple bobbing.

"Well," Mason bites his lip and shrugs, "screaming wouldn’t have helped their situation — at least we’ll know how they’re learning, huh?" he slaps Tommaso on the shoulder and grins, "I guess the recording is stuck in the barn too? Never mind. I’ll wake Margot up, she can help call them back."

If possible, Tommaso pales even further.


	7. Incarceration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by mooringsbuiltonsand.tumblr: mason actually has to face a short incarceration and how he deals with that.

It doesn’t sink in at first.

The court room is near empty — Papa had done everything in his power to keep the whole business out of the press, had probably laid down bribes half way to the supreme court to make sure things were pushed as much his way as possible.

As it turns out even Papa’s money isn’t infallible. He’s sitting in the first row of the gallery, eyes front, back straight, shoulders set. He doesn’t even look at Mason.

Mason can’t think about that, though, his eyes glide right by Papa’s thunderous expression. As he’s escorted out of the room all he can see is Margot’s pale, tear-streaked face and he wants to go to her, he wants to tell her … wants to tell her — _what? What, exactly could he say?_

His head feels like it’s full of static, he does what he’s told, lets them steer him, changes his clothes when he’s told, stands still when he’s told. In the back of his mind a small voice whispers that maybe he should do something, lash out, make a fuss.

Maybe they’d just kill him and save him the worry.

He comes back to himself standing in a small cell. Just a holding cell. Nothing _permanant_ just yet.

Somehow he’s already wearing a garish orange jumpsuit. It bags around him, too big and loose, especially after his customary tailored suits.

He’s alone. For the moment.

The static in his head dies down. He can hear voices down the hall, the tinny ring of a distant television.

He doesn’t need to turn his head to see the two bunks to his left. He stays where he is, in the middle of the tiny space, looking out through the bars. There’s a camera in the hall. He stares at it for a while, then past it. He doesn’t think, really. Just drifts. Time passes.

There’s a ringing boom as a baton bounces off the cell bars. Mason doesn’t flinch. A guard looks in at him. Mason tilts his head, refocuses his eyes.

"Bet you’re panicking right now, aren’t you?" the guard leers, it’s the kind of ham-fisted cruelty that has always shed right off Mason, "you know what they do to guys like you in prison? I mean sure your _Daddy_ could pull some strings for you, but I’m betting you won’t be getting out without a few marks.”

Mason blinks slowly, shrugs. It’s probably better if he doesn’t say anything. It would only be taken as provocation, and his solicitor had told him not to speak to anyone if he could help it. He knows the guard just wants a _reason_ to fuck him up.

"Okay I get it, you’re a real tough guy, right?" the man’s face is growing red, it’s almost too easy. Mason doesn’t have to do anything to get a rise out of him, "just wait until you’re in a shower with nine other guys who all know what you did — I bet there’ll be some of them had kids at those camps, you think they’ll let that slide?"

Well that’s interesting. The man doesn’t have the right register of anger for a parent, too much outrage, not enough sickened, stewing anger. A niece or nephew, perhaps a younger sibling.

Doubtful that anything had _happened_ to whoever it was if this man is here. There must be some kind of regulation against that, mustn’t there? Mason had done a lot of research before the hearing. He hadn’t thought of this. It is an unusual oversight.

Really, for all the guard’s anger his threats ring hollow. Mason is too high profile to be kept in the general population. Papa has too much money and too much influence. There is little doubt in Mason’s mind that he’ll be out again before the end of his term. His way will be eased with money, as always: at the end of the day Papa still needs an heir.

He can take a beating. He has read that prisoner-on-prisoner sexual assault is lower than hollywood would make out — reported at rate of a little less than two percent among male inmates. In the small chance it _does_ happen he can take that too. What might happen to his body isn’t what worries Mason.

Silence. Or, at least, being silent is.

His throat burns with the words he wants to use, to turn against this pathetic thing taunting him through the bars, his chest feels tight, he wants to talk, talk, talk. He knows he can’t. He knows that it would be the worst thing he could do.

He knows himself well enough to realise, distantly, that he’s not in his right mind, that when the shock of the whole thing passes he’s going to be furious, afraid, frustrated. He won’t have any of the escapes he’s used to, and he’s going to be in withdrawal.

After this weird calm there’s going to be a mess inside him. He wants Margot. Remembers her face in the court room, and before that, a lifetime of Margot’s face, the feel of her, the taste of her skin, of her tears. She isn’t going to be with him anymore.

Mason realises that he’s drifted again, the guard is spitting insults through the bars, barely intelligible, red-faced, spittle flying. Mason looks up at the steady red light of the camera. There must be other guards watching. If anything happens to him there will be a tape.

Mason doesn’t say anything.

He just smiles.


	8. All Tied Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by mooringsbuiltonsand.tumblr: Will gets Mason riled up and somehow convinces him into being tied up. And then just... leaves him. Lol bye loser.

Mason flexes his hands, the ropes are firm but they don’t cut off the circulation, his arms bound behind his back with a net-like arrangement of knots, “You take a class or something?” he smirks.

"Yes, actually," Will Graham pauses for only a second and then carries on, wrapping and knotting the rope with easy movements, "this type of rope work was originally designed to be used in law enforcement — before modern handcuffs came into use. Developed into a kind of … art form."

“ _Fascinating_ ,” Mason rolls his eyes.

"Well, actually, I think so," there’s one last tug on the rope as the end is looped around a crossbeam, Mason’s arms are yanked up to a right-angle and he has to take a step back to keep his balance, "and that’s that," Will ties off the rope and steps back, brushing off his hands and admiring his handiwork.

"So _now_ the — oh,” Mason’s expression drops as he realises what he’s gotten himself into.

Will Graham smiles crookedly, looking at Mason’s shoes, and turns to walk away. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t turn back at all.

"Oh _balls_ ,” Mason struggles for a second, but there’s no point, the ropes are too well tied. He wonders how long until someone will find him. Wonders if he’s going to have to think of someway to explain … this.


	9. Will dies in this one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just what it says on the tin, prompt from i-let-him-kill-me.tumblr

Will’s head is drooping, hanging heavily, so low that his chin is resting on his chest, the collar of the straight jacket cutting into his windpipe.

Mason ducks and uses one hand to lift Will’s head under the chin, smiles as his eyes flutter open, “Hi there, awake are you?” he shifts his hand to stroke over Will’s cheek, the leather of his glove rasps across stubble, “you’ve done well — better than I’d thought you would,” Mason bends down to undo the laces of Will’s shoes, pulls them off and lets them drop the half-foot to the floor, then tests the straps of the rig to make sure that there will be no squirming free.

"Bu-ut," he holds Will by the hips, stopping him from swinging where he’s hanging, "everything has to end some time."

For the first time Will Graham seems to become aware of his situation, wriggling against the restraints, his bare feet kicking out and finding nothing but air.

Mason laughs and reaches up to grab him by the jaw, standing on his toes so that he can press his mouth against Will’s briefly. Then he brings the knife up and flicks it across one side of Will’s throat, smiles at the hot spray that crosses his face, flecking his glasses.

“ _No!_ " Will’s voice is thick and hoarse, and he struggles again, legs flailing and Mason pats him on the hip as behind him Carlo starts turning the winch and Will is carried out over the hole in the top of the maze. As the blood drips down into the pen the pigs, already excited by the sound of the struggle, start milling under the hole, squealing and squabbling for the best spots.

Mason watches for a long time, until Will has stopped screaming and the pigs start to turn away, bellies full.


	10. Bait and Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for a prompt by i-let-him-kill-me.tumblr

In his dream there is nothing but warmth, a gentle golden light and the sensation of something soft that he presses his face against, that envelopes his whole body, plush and somehow intimate for all that he is not dreaming of a body or a face or a voice.

Heat pools in his belly, ripples through him in easy waves and he squirms a little, writhing and rubbing himself against warmth and weight and dimly a thought buzzes through his sleeping mind like an overladen bee that he is not alone, that perhaps there is something that he should remember, but the thought distant and faint and the dream is so sweet.

Mason drifts toward consciousness when movement is introduced to the world, when hands take him by the waist and push him onto his back and he makes a muted sound in the back of his throat, reaching out for a warmth that has moved now, that has settled between his legs, hands that smooth over his belly, down over his cock in one long motion.

A hand strokes him and a mouth closes over the head of his cock and heat prickles across his skin, he whimpers and his fingers tangle in the sheets, he twitches under the gentle weight, under the press of tongue and the shivery graze of teeth.

“ _Mm_ —”  _argot_ , he’s panting, rocking up into the slick heat, his eyes open for the first time and all he see is the high ceiling, but he’s getting so  _close_  and he wants to watch, wants to  _see_  —

He looks down the length of himself and Will Graham stares back. A jolt of naked fear courses through Mason like electricity and he comes.


	11. Beat Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by i-let-him-kill-me: Have Carlo and his boys beat the shit out of Will pls. Bonus points for nearly dead. c:

Will feels something sharp digging into his hard palate, he worries it with his tongue, and it takes him a minute to realise it is one of his teeth, broken off. He turns his head to spit it out and he his struck at the sight of the wad of bloody froth below him on the concrete, flecked with fragments of his teeth.

He can feel himself struggling to form cohesive thoughts, it registers on a deep, animal level that there is something very wrong with him, that even breathing sends pain ricocheting through him — another boot drives into his ribs, he hears a loud  _crack_  and his vision greys, Carlo’s face sways over him, his expression placid, professional.

Another boot crushes his hand and Will can feel his fingers snapping, can hear the low, desperate, animal sound that tears from his throat, he feels raw and broken.

He can’t remember how long this has been going on for, he’s lost count of the number of times he’s passed out and been brought round to the sight of three calm, worn faces peering down at him.

Will feels sick and dizzy, he curls into himself about the precise, methodical beating. In a brief moment of terrible clarity he  _knows_  that something has gone deeply, deeply wrong inside of him.


	12. Oh Fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompted by sickassjigsaw: Mason seducing a very unimpressed Zeller B)

When the maid steps in to tell him that there is someone at the door Mason is splayed languidly on the sofa, wrapped in a richly embroidered dressing gown and high as a kite. He tells her to let them in —  _sure, why not, bring ‘em up_.

Zeller steps into the sitting room looking slightly disgruntled but Mason grins, his head lolling to the side and pats the cushion beside him, “I  _knew_  you’d come back — come sit by me why doncha—”

He almost loses his balance sitting down, but he steadies himself and grins, “You want a drink? Why doncha have a drink? I’ll call the maid and you can come sit by me all  _cosy_ —”

The expression on Zeller’s face is somewhere between amusement and mild horror, “Mr Verger, I don’t think that—”

"No, nonsense, c’mon, sit down," Mason tries to stand and fails, sinks back onto the cushion and props his chin in his hand as though that’s what he’d meant to do all along.

Zeller clears his throat and glances back toward the door, “I’m here with the FBI,” he says slowly and clearly, “we have a warrant to search this address, Mr Verger.”

That takes a few moments to filter through the haze in Mason’s brain, his expression frozen and then his face crumples as he screws up his nose and frowns, “Oh  _fuck_.”

**Author's Note:**

> originally from masonverger-rising.tumblr


End file.
